


Under The Floorboards

by QueenOfTheMerryMen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hood-Mills Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-21 00:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13729689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfTheMerryMen/pseuds/QueenOfTheMerryMen
Summary: It's a dark and stormy night when Robin, a widower, hears a knock on the door of his new home. Regina, the former owner, has returned hoping to find a treasured piece of her past. Can he help her find the closure that she needs?





	Under The Floorboards

Honestly, there was nothing Robin loved more than listening to a good storm. He didn’t know how it started but ever since he was a child nothing had relaxed him more than the sound of rain pattering against his windows, wind howling through the air and lightning slashing through the dark sky. His mother said he was only three when he sat through his first big storm. She thought he was going to be afraid but he’d just pulled a chair up next to the window and watched in awe as the wind and rain tore through their neighborhood. Sadly, this love of mother nature’s dark side didn’t pass along to his son. 

 

A storm was blasting outside the Locksley home that night. It rolled with thunder and flashed with lightning. Robin stoked a warm fire while his son watched from the sofa, swaddled in blankets as he trembled, warily, at the sounds outside the door. Eyes trained on the window, he asked, for the fifth time that night, “But papa what if the glass breaks?” 

 

Robin bit back a chuckle. 

 

“The windows aren’t going to break, sweetheart,” he kindly reassured him. He turned to his son with a sympathetic. “I promise they’re just as solid as you or me.” 

 

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky and Roland covered his eyes, scared. “I miss our old house,” he mumbled. 

 

Robin’s heart clenched. He’d forgotten that this was Roland’s first storm in the new house. Perhaps that why he was so anxious. 

 

Sitting next to him on the sofa, Robin rubs his son’s shoulders through his blankets. “Hey, why don’t we drown out all this noise with some music.” 

 

Roland looks up at him with his wide brown eyes. “Can I listen to mama’s songs again?” 

 

Robin smiled at him. “Of course you can. Always.” 

 

Sighing, he pulled out his iphone and clicked on the music app. He taps into his favorites and there they are. Roland’s Lullabies. Helping his son get situated with the headphones, he taps play, pleased to see a satisfied smile appear on Roland’s face. Just as it always does when he listens to his mother’s voice. 

 

They weren’t high quality. Not all. They were rapsy, short little ditties that she’d recorded on her phone in the solitude of their old bathroom. He still remembers the day he’d found her doing it. Roland was barely three months old and she was about to leave for a two day trip the next morning. He’d thought she was overreacting, the way she vehemently claimed there was no way their son would be able to sleep without the sound of her voice next to his ear. Oh how wrong he’d been. Those lullabies had been a godsend then and now. Especially now. 

 

His son is five years old and those lullabies are all that he has of his mother’s voice. 

 

Roland starts to softly sing along with her and Robin smiles as he leans back into the sofa, with his arm still around his son’s shoulders. 

 

“...you are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray…” 

 

God, he misses her voice. She used to sing through everything. Through the mornings and the nights. The car rides and the walks. The good times and the bad. He could depend on her voice through it all. He supposed in a way he still could. 

 

Sighing, he listens to the sound of the rain against his windows. Their steady pitter-patter calming him from the inside out. Even with the thunder and the lightning it still brings him serenity. 

 

Looking around the room he finds himself pleased. It’s been four months since they moved in and the new house was finally starting to look like a home. Pictures were hung, walls were painted. It was starting to feel less like a stranger’s place and more like his own every day. 

 

This was right move, he told himself. A fresh start away from all the sadness. It was exactly what they’d needed. 

 

Thunder rumbled outside, shaking the windows. Roland covered his ears and curled further into father’s side. Robin pressed a kiss to the top of his head and rubbed his shoulders comfortingly. 

 

“It’s just thunder, sweetheart,” he says. “There’s no need to be afraid.” 

 

**_BANG-BANG-BANG!!_ **

 

Robin nearly jumps out of his skin as Roland whimpers in his arms, immediately climbing into his father’s lap at the intruding sound. 

 

What the hell was that? 

 

**_BANG-BANG-BANG!!_ **

 

It comes again, somehow seeming more urgent than before. As his heart rate steadies, Robin realizes that it’s just the sound of someone banging on his front door. He moves to stand and Roland grips onto him tight. “Don’t leave me Papa!” 

 

“Shh.” Robin coaxes him back onto the couch. “I’m not leaving you, I’m just going to see who’s at the door.” 

 

He wraps Roland back into his blankets and walks toward the door, a spot in the floorboards squeaking under the weight of his feet as he goes. Lightning flashes as he opens the door and sees her standing there. 

 

She’s an absolute mess. 

 

The storm rages behind her. Thunder rolls and wind blows but there she stands. She’s soaking wet, her black hair dripping from the rain and her eyeliner smudging into her lids. Her arms are crossed as she nervously shifts from foot, with no jacket or umbrella to speak of. She’s only wearing a sleeveless black dress and a pair of stockings along with heels. 

 

She looks like an absolute wreck but all he can see is the clear desperation in her brown eyes. She stares up at him for a moment as if she’s starstruck but finally, hesitantly she opens her mouth and says two words. 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

Then three. 

 

“I’m so sorry.” 

 

He stares at her, more confused than he’s ever been in his life. Who is this woman and what the hell is she doing at his door? 

 

“My name is Regina Mills and I need to come into your house. Please!” 

 

He tries to think up a response but he’s just too stunned. Immediately he starts to think, no. There’s no way he should let this complete stranger into his house with his son on a stormy night. There are at least twenty horror stories that tell him this is a bad idea. 

 

But then he feels two tiny little hands latch onto the back of his legs. He looks down to see Roland staring up at him with curious brown eyes. “Papa… what’s going on?” 

 

From the corner of his eye he sees her look down at his son, bite her lip and suddenly shake her head. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, raising her voice to be heard over the storm. “I shouldn’t have come here. This was a mistake.” 

 

She turns to leave and for a second he thinks that he should just let her go but Roland is standing right next to him. He can’t let this woman go back out into the storm. Not in front of his son. 

 

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to her. “Come inside. Please.” 

 

She almost hesitates, he sees it in her eyes, but she chooses to come in letting Robin shut the door behind her. 

 

Roland clings to his legs as they both stand in front of the door, watching her warily. Water drips from the end of her dress down onto the floor next to her heels as she looks around the room gulping. 

 

“You painted the walls,” he hears her mumble. 

 

“Excuse me,” he says, growing more uncomfortable with her presence by the second. 

 

She turns to him with wide eyes, as if realizing what she just said. “I’m sorry.” 

 

“So you’ve said.” 

 

She lets out a small puff of breath. “I didn’t plan to show up here, like this… I just… it’s kind of a funny story.” 

 

Robin folds his arms, staring her down. “Well I can’t wait to hear it.” 

 

“Well my husband is dead…” 

 

Robin narrows his eyes at her, confused. 

 

“...which is obviously not the funny part,” she mumbles. She clears her throat before clasping her hands together and starting over.  

 

“We used to live here before he died,” she explains. She sees his eyes soften and she shakes her head. “It was many years ago, don’t worry about it.” 

 

Pausing for a moment, she continues. “Before we got married we wrote letters to each other. You know, we were supposed to save them for a time when things got hard or sad and then we were supposed to read them. And I always thought that he never did it but… a few hours ago his brother called me and told me that he did and he hid my letter…”

 

“Somewhere in this house,” Robin finishes for her. 

 

Regina nods. “I just… I’d really like to find it. Please.” 

 

Her voice breaks as stares up at him, still shivering in her soaking wet dress, eyes pleading for him to understand. 

The tale she’s told him almost seems insane, it probably would be to anyone but him. But looking into her eyes he understands. He remembers what it was like after Marian died. He remembers that hollow feeling he felt inside when he realized that this was the end of their story. That he’d never make another memory with her. He remembered the terrifying guilt that passed through him when he realized that he was forgetting the tiny details about her as time went by. How she used to walk, which foods she disliked. Oh how he’d scrambled and searched for anything new. Talking to her friends and family members, looking for any small piece of information he could use to keep her spirit alive, to keep her near. 

 

There’s a dangerous storm passing right outside his door… yet this woman had chosen to brave it just for the chance to find one more piece of her long dead husband. 

 

He understood that more than anything in the world. 

 

Shrugging his shoulders, he asks, “Do you know where he hid it?” 

 

She lets out a small relieved breath before softly nodding. Folding her arms for warmth she asks, “Have you redone the floors yet?” 

 

“No,” he answers, confused. “The realtor said they were the original floors so I hadn’t planned on it.” 

 

“Thank god,” she gratefully whispers. “When we lived here there used to be these three messed up hollow spots in the floors that we hated. If you step on them in the right spot they just lift right up.” 

 

“Like the spot under my carpet!” chimed in Roland, clearly interested. Seemed all the excitement had put the storm out of his head. 

 

Robin nods his head, catching on. “You think he hid the letter under the floorboards?” 

 

“It’s the only place I can think of,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. 

 

“Well, alright then,” he says. “Let’s see if we can find it.” 

 

\-----------------------------------

  
  


The first place they looked was in Roland’s room. According to Regina, it had once been their guest bedroom. They found the creaky floorboard right where Roland said they would, in the center of his room beneath his race car themed rugged. A quick lift of the board revealed nothing but the six jolly ranchers his son had hidden there upon it’s discovery. 

 

After that they traveled back downstairs to the laundry room. The second floorboard had been right underneath the baskets of dirty clothes which Robin suddenly felt very self conscious about. He watched as she lifted up the floorboard and sighed in disappointment when she found it be just as empty as the one before it. 

 

Finally they ended up back in the living room. It was the last floorboard and Regina was certain it was in the living room somewhere near the fireplace. She searched for five minutes on her hands and knees, knocking on every board before Robin finally decides to joins her. It seems like they spend forever knocking on wood before he finally hears it, that distinct hollow sound that makes the board beneath his hand stand out from all the others. The sound reaches Regina’s ears and she desperately crawls over to where Robin kneels. 

 

“This is it,” she says, her voice dripping with hope. 

 

Robin stands to his feet, lifting Roland into his arms. They both stare down at her watching as she pries the board out of its place and reaches inside the hollow opening. 

 

“Did you find it? Did you find the letter?” Roland asks. His little voice is filled with excitement, it’s clear he believes their little treasure hunt will end in success. 

 

But Robin sees the light go out in her eyes. The way her hopeful smile starts to droop as she looks down into the ground. 

 

“It… it’s not there,” she says in a small, hopeless tone. “This isn’t where he hid it.” 

 

She falls back on her haunches, a defeated look making its way onto her face. Her sorrow quickly fills the room, the silence of it even muffling the sounds of the storm outside. Robin pathetically bites his lip, unsure of what to say. Even Roland can’t offer up a silver lining. 

 

Finally, he takes a small step toward her. “Do you… need a moment?” 

 

He wishes there was more he could say, more that he could do but right now a little privacy is the best that he can offer her. 

 

Gulping, Regina silently nods her head. It seems like the most that she could do right now. 

 

Without another word, Robin carries his son up the stairs leaving her alone in the living room. It’s late, far past Roland’s curfew. If it weren’t for all the excitement he’d have put him to sleep long ago. He tucks Roland into bed, making sure to turn on the nightlight and press a kiss to his forehead before heading back out into the hallway. He sighs before heading back down the stairs, wondering what state he’ll find Regina in. 

  
  


By the time he gets to the bottom of the stairs she’s at least on her feet. Her back is turned to him and he can see that she’s shivering. He mentally kicks himself for not noticing it sooner. Her dress is still wet and her hair is only just stopped dripping. Of course, she’s cold. Before she even notices, he slips into the laundry room and returns with a dry towel. 

 

Once back in the living room he cautiously taps her on the shoulder. She jumps a little at his touch, hastily swiping away tears that she clearly doesn’t want him to see. 

 

Handing her the towel, he mumbles, “I’m sorry you didn’t find the letter.” 

 

“It’s okay,” she lies, with a shrug of her shoulder. “I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” 

 

Gently wiping at her face, she tries to plaster on a smile. “I’m sorry I interrupted your evening.” 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve only made things much more interesting.” 

 

That manages to earn him a slight chuckle from her. Sighing, she glances toward the door. 

 

“I should go,” she says, handing the towel back to him. “Feels like I’ve intruded enough for one evening.” 

 

Robin sees another flash of lightning through the window and shakes his head. “No please,stay. It’s still storming out there.” 

 

“I’ll be fine,” she says with a brave face. “Besides,you’ve indulged me long enough. I really wouldn’t want to suck up anymore of your hospitality.” 

 

“But you’re perfectly fine stepping on my conscience?” he quips. “It looks like hell out there. If you leave now I’ll drive myself mad wondering if you got home alright.” 

 

She takes another look out the window and grimaces. It does look like the storm has kicked up a notch. Driving through it doesn’t seem like the best option. 

 

Robin shrugs his shoulders. “Look, I’m sure it’ll clear up in an hour or so but until then… I’ve got hot cocoa or tea if that’s what you’d prefer. Maybe take a minute and dry off at least.” 

 

She hesitates for a minute but nods her head gratefully. “Tea sounds lovely.” 

 

Xxxxxx

 

Of all the areas in the house the kitchen is probably the least favorite for Robin. It’s small and cramped. The stove is outdated and the cabinet hinges creak. Not to mention it’s the one place that seems to be immune to air conditioning. He intends to redo the whole room once they’d settled in more. Standing at the stove he wonder if Regina had planned to do the same. 

 

She sat at the kitchen counter, still wrapped up in the kitchen towel and still taking in her surroundings. He can only imagine how strange this must feel for her. To walk into a place that used to be your home but no longer is. 

 

“So…,” he ventures. “Has much changed since you were last here?” 

 

She shakes her head. “Not as much as you’d expect after five years.” 

 

Sighing, she looks around and softly chuckles. “Nice to know the kitchen still runs warm though.” 

 

“Yeah,” mumbled Robin, pouring some hot tea into a mug and shaking his head. “I can’t figure out why that is.” 

 

He hands over the mug with a soft here and she gratefully takes it from him. Goosebumps rise up on her arms as she takes a sip. Hopefully it’ll warm her from the inside out. 

 

Taking a seat next to her, he asks, “Did you spend much time here? In the kitchen, I mean?” 

 

She shakes her head. “No. The kitchen was very much Daniel’s domain.” 

 

“Daniel?” 

 

She quietly gulps. “My husband.” She pauses, pressing her lips together, as if she’s trying to shove down her emotions. Finally, she sighs and puts on a smile. “He was a chef.” 

 

“Really, a chef?” His eyebrows go up in surprise. Again, he looks around the room. “I can’t imagine a chef being fond of this kitchen.” 

 

Regina snorts and nods her head. “He loved it. Called it his ultimate challenge. Said if he could make a masterpiece in here he could make one anywhere.” 

 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I bursted in on you tonight. I just…” 

 

“No I get it,” he said, cutting her off. “Believe me I do.” 

 

Her gaze drops down to the wedding band that still resides on his right ring finger. “When did you lose your wife?” 

 

He turns to her, surprised, but she just shrugs her shoulders. “Her pictures are everywhere but...you haven’t mentioned her once. Neither has your son.”

 

“Perhaps I’m just divorced?” 

 

She tilted her head toward his hand. “Divorced men don’t wear rings, widowers do.” 

 

He raises an eyebrow impressed by her perceptiveness. “Marian passed about two years ago,” he softly reveals. “Car accident.”  

 

“I’m sorry.” It’s an automatic reply but it still comes with more sincerity than he’s used to. There’s a slight pause before she asks, “Is that why you moved?” 

 

“Is it why you did?”  

 

She almost looks annoyed that he chooses to answer her question with one of his own, but still she replies, “This house was supposed to be our future and when he was gone… it just stopped feeling like home.” 

 

_ Because he was home _ , Robin silently thinks. He remembers what it had been like trying to endure the old house on his own. It was like living with Marian’s ghost, and not in a good way. He’d tried to stick it out - for Roland’s sake, for his - but in the end he knew he couldn’t move forward when he was actively trying to live in his past. 

 

“Roland and I came here for a fresh start,” he says. “A new chapter.” 

 

A wistful smile appears on Regina’s face. “Well you couldn’t have picked a better place. Intrusive former owners aside, I’m sure he’ll love growing up here.” 

 

She says it with just a hint of regret in her voice, enough to make Robin knit his eyebrows together as he asks, “Did you and Daniel have children?” 

 

She shakes her head. “We tried but we weren’t so lucky.” Her gaze drops down to the mug in her hands. “It’s just another thing we didn’t get to experience together,” she mumbles. 

 

Silence falls over them again. The rain still patters against the window and Robin takes another sip of his tea. He watches as she does the same. It’s an awful thought but he can’t help but notice that she wears sorrow well. Too well almost. The way it flickers in her brown eyes, drips into her tone of voice and fills her posture… it’s almost as if she’s comfortable with it. He remembers how he’d been after Marian’s death. Positively wrecked, allowing his grief to weigh him down in every way, including physically. It took him nearly half a year to learn how to sit up straight again. Staring at Regina he wonders if this is his future. Will he ever truly be rid of his sadness, or will he just learn to wear it better? Will it start to fall on him like a suit of armor instead of a ton of bricks? Is that what he has to look forward to? 

 

Almost as if she can hear his thoughts, she sighs, running her fingers through her hair. 

 

“I thought I was past this,” she softly remarks. Glancing over at him with a soft smile, she shakes her head. “I don’t want you to think this is how I am. I… I’m happy again. I have a life. I have a son.” 

 

“You do?” 

 

“Yes,” she says, her smile brightening. “He’s 10 years old, my whole world. After I lost Daniel adopting him  was the first thing that made me feel like I had a future again. I found my son, I have a job that I love, even reconnected with my family. It took a while but I’m a whole person again. And I don’t know why I care, or even think that you would, but I don’t want you to think that this one moment is who I am now.” 

 

“Grief isn’t straight line,” Robin responds. She raises an eyebrow at him and he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s a line that my mother keeps feeding me. She lost my dad nearly 20 years ago, she says there are moments when it still feels like yesterday.” 

 

Regina lets out a sad chuckle. “Good to know.” 

 

Robin allows a smile to tug on the edge of his lips. “So, these letters… we know Daniel wrote his, did you write yours?” 

 

“Of course I wrote one,” she says. “It’s been so long. I can hardly remember the wording but the gist was that I loved him not for what he was but for what he made me. That if I was l making things hard that I was sorry,promised that I love him and that I’d never stop.” 

 

“And did you?”    
  


“Did I…?” 

 

“Stop loving him?” Robin asked, truly curious. 

 

Regina bit her lip, thinking it over. “It isn’t so much that I stopped loving him but that I changed how I did. He’s still in my heart he just… takes up space in a different way. In a way that leaves room for others now.” 

 

For reasons, he doesn’t quite understand he feels a bit relieved at that final sentence. 

 

“And the letter?” he says. “What do you think he wrote?” 

 

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “And maybe it’s best that I don’t. 

 

The rain outside slows to a pitter-patter and she eyes the kitchen window, self-consciously. 

 

“Looks like the storm has cleared up,” she remarks, sliding off her stool. “I should really head home.” 

 

“Of course,” he mumbles, sadder than he has any reason to sound. “I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for.” 

 

“Me too,” she softly replies. 

 

He walks her to the door, and bids her a soft goodbye, one she returns with a simple, tired nod and a mumbled reply. The rain had slowed to a drizzle by that point but she still tried to shield her hair as she ran back toward her car, carefully avoiding puddles on the way. He watched from the window as she drives off down the road, wondering if he’d ever see her again, and hoping that he would. 

 

\-----------

Weeks passed and the former owner of his house. She runs through his thoughts mercilessly, always dripping wet with sad eyes and a sorrowful smile. Robin wonders about her constantly, hoping that she’s as happy and fulfilled as she’d claimed to be. He hopes she is. He hopes that she managed to overcome the bout of grief she’d sunken into when he saw her. 

 

He also thinks of the letter far more often than he cares to admit. It’s hidden somewhere in this house, he just knows it. His spare time becomes to devoted to searching for it. Looking through every nook and cranny, hoping that it’ll pop up. For weeks his search is fruitless. Until one night when he can’t sleep. 

 

Thoughts of her had crept into his head again, making sleep elusive. It was nearly one AM when he finally ventured into the kitchen hoping that a shot of whiskey might muddle his thoughts and put his dreams within reach again. He trips over that broken floorboard on the way to the kitchen, cursing when he twists his ankle.A common occurrence which has him considering redoing the floors for the third time that week. Again, his mind wanders to Regina, wondering how many times she must’ve done the same thing. 

 

As he reaches for the whiskey, he suddenly strikes him that the floorboards would’ve been a terrible hiding place. She knew where they were, had probably tripped over them constantly, had basically said as much. If Daniel had wanted to hide something from Regina that was probably the last place he’d put it. Leaning against the kitchen counter her words begin to echo in his head. 

 

_ The kitchen was very much Daniel’s domain. _

 

He looks around the room, remembering that she said he hadn’t come in here often. Daniel had been a chef, so if there was ever a room where he’d felt comfortable in the kitchen would be it. 

 

Setting the bottle of whiskey back onto the counter he lets his eyes drift across the floors and up and down the walls, searching for any little thing that seemed out of place. Finally his eyes sweep up to the ceiling, landing on the vent placed right above the kitchen island. He’d asked about it when he first moved in, curious about why the air seemed so stagnant in the room. His realtor had told him that the vent hadn’t worked in years. Just an old quirk that no one had ever gotten around to fixing. 

 

Digging a screwdriver out of the kitchen drawers, he hops onto the island within seconds. His neck aches as he cranes it to unscrew the metal covering, letting it fall onto the counter with a loud clank. Reaching his hand into the small shaft, he feels around letting his palm feel around its aluminum walls. Just when he’s about to give up he feels something distinctly not metal brush against his fingers. It feels paper-like with sharp edges and corners. He manages to pull it out of the vent, gasping in triumph when he sees it’s an envelope with faded handwriting spelling out “ _ Regina _ ” in the center. 

 

“Found you,” he whispers. 

 

Now to find it’s intended recipient. 


End file.
